


theseus' ship

by roswyrm



Series: class swap au [1]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Class Swap, Gen, go check out narrativium it's so good y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: ALEX:And, just a quick reminder for the listeners, who are you playing?BEN:I am...(papers rustling)Zolf Smith, a Dwarven fighter.BRYN:Hamid the Halfling cleric of Hera.ALEX:So many H's.BRYN:Somany H's!LYDIA:Sasha, who istotallya wizard! Definitely! Not a sorceressat all!(laughter)JAMES:And(asBERTIE)Bertrand MacGuffingham, confidence man extraordinaire! I hope you don't like your wallet, because it is very quickly going to becomemywallet!(laughter)





	theseus' ship

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [narrativium](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18403946) by [hinotorihime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinotorihime/pseuds/hinotorihime). 



> hey u know fullmetal alchemist? where it just. "Fullmetal ALCHEMIST" **"FullMetal Alchemist"**? yeah, THAT w/ me & emma except it was "Class Swap AU" _"class swap au"_ so. here u are. 
> 
> it's named theseus' ship bc. same story. same characters. different backstory. same characters? same story???
> 
> Working Title: _why do all of my friends have such good ideas_

In this version, Sasha wishes she were better at hiding. In this version, all those lessons with Barrett never really sunk in, never made her into the thief he wanted her to be. In this version, Brock took care of her, stole enough for both of them. 

(In this version, Sasha was the one slated to be sent off to François Henri’s little secret after her faulty heart gave out. In this version, she was only three years old when she woke up screaming, interrupting the brain-removal process. In this version, she has a horizontal scar along her forehead that she doesn’t quite remember getting.)

Sasha sees the people following her, and she sees the corners she could hide in, but she doesn’t see how to get to them without telegraphing herself. Fear makes the air around her turn bitter. “No,” she whispers, lost underneath the roar of the crowd, “no, not now.” The whatever-it-is that made her so useful to Barrett ignores her, but the people don’t, turning to stare. They look scared of her, or maybe scared of the unsettlingly ominous quality crippling the air she breathes. Sasha pulls her hood up and darts off to an alleyway.

She slams into someone. In this version, she never learned how to duck and roll and pop back up again, so she goes sprawling. In this version, the man she ran into isn’t weighed down by too-expensive too-flashy armour covered in falcons. In this version, he leans down, charming and well-dressed in a dark grey suit, and extends a hand to help her back up. “Hello, young lady,” he says, and for half a second, Sasha might almost believe he’s kind. But she recognises the way his eyes dart up to hers like they were looking at something else, like that something else is going to be slipped into his back waistcoat-pocket, and Sasha scrambles to her feet without his assistance.

(In this version, Everard MacGuffingham made a very different deal with Harkness, Harkness, Darkness & Sphinx. In this version, the MacGuffinghams have charming smiles and quick fingers that pick locks and slip valuables off of other blue-bloods to add to their vaults. In this version, he’s nowhere near prestigious enough to warrant much noble attention.)

In this version, the dwarf standing behind him has a cutlass tucked into his belt and a half-plate under his coat. In this version, his boots are worn out but matching, no limp to slow the way he rushes forward. “You alright?” he asks, and in this version, Sasha’s eyes aren’t drawn to the holy symbol around his neck.

(In this version, Zolf didn’t leave his fate in the hands of the sea. In this version, Zolf gave the same official statement as his other crewmates and went back to sailing as a member of the Navy, not as a pirate. In this version, he has both of his legs and night terrors that he can’t seem to get rid of.)

“Oh,” says an unfamiliar voice with a too-familiar accent, “she’s fine. She was just going to come with us, ain’t that right?” Sasha’s eyes are sharp, and she notices the way the man tucks something she knows is anti-magic into his sleeve. To use on her. Sasha whips around at a too-familiar dark chuckle, and there’s anti-magic on either end of the alley, and she doesn’t like her magic, but it’s _part of her,_ how _dare_ Barrett send his thugs to try and take it from her?

Sasha breathes hard, breathes shakily, and the air around her turns cold and dark and unsettling. “No,” she whispers to Zolf, “I’m not alright.” He takes it in stride, nodding and curling his hand around the pommel of his blade. In this version, Sasha is slow to trust, but the magic that winds in her veins and shows her how to bend her hands in concert with it seems to like him. 

(In this version, Zolf’s seen so much death, and Sasha’s magic knows it.)

In this version, Zolf’s awkward attempts at a bluff are the same. “Sorry sirs,” he says with a half-smile and a meaningful hand on his weapon, “we are just doing our jobs.”

“Oh, so are we! So are we.”

In this version, Bertie is a gentleman thief, and pure brawn isn’t his motif. In this version, Bertie has a friendly hand on one of the thugs’ backs as he pushes him along. In this version, Bertie neatly slots a gold-hilted rapier in between the thug’s ribs that cleanly punctures his lung, chatting all the while. In this version, when the other one cries out and goes for the attack, Zolf doesn’t get a chance to unsheathe his cutlass before raw, undiluted magic bursts from Sasha’s hand and Magic Missile slams into the criminal’s face. Two others round the corner, Sasha’s other hand burns black (she points this time, her index finger serving as a focal point) and the magic that surges from her fingertips is more focused, a darkness that blurs from speed as it hits its target.

(In this version, there’s no show, no big crowd, but Hamid is still pulled toward them. Something Evil happened. Something Undead. Hamid can feel it, and he needs to sort it out. He’s proving his worth, proving his goodness. To his family, to his goddess, to himself.)

Zolf says, “Damnit, Bertie, we’re _crowd control,”_ but in this version, he can’t Stabilise the man himself. Bertie shrugs, cleaning lung fluid and blood off of his foil. Zolf rolls his eyes in exasperation and turns to Sasha, staring at her shaking hands. “Any chance you can do healing spells, too?” Sasha shakes her head mutely. She’s never cast a spell before. She’s gotten angry or scared and felt something tugging at her, something filling her head and her heart with frigid, stagnant air, but this. Spells, concentrated and named, is a new development.

Zolf notices there’s something wrong, but he never had to learn anything approximating bedside manner. He cares, of course, but he’s even worse at showing it. In this version, he never followed Poseidon too closely, never had to be anything even vaguely resembling a healer. “That was impressive,” he says instead of _“Are you okay, now?”_ Sasha smiles down at him, shaky, and her face is whiter than her teeth. Zolf sticks out a hand. “Zolf Smith,” he introduces himself. “I’m looking for people to join my mercenary group. You in?” There’s a ring on his finger that Sasha thinks might be valuable, but she doesn’t recognise the symbol on it.

In this version, in any version, in every version, Sasha nods. “‘M Sasha,” she stammers, taking his too-warm hand in hers for a clumsy handshake, “and yeah. Yeah, I’m in.”

“Oh my god,” says someone new, _“Bertie?”_ There’s a halfling with a crossbow slung across his shoulder staring up at the man Sasha ran into. Bertie blinks. The halfling laughs and rushes forward, and Sasha feels vaguely uncomfortable, watching Bertie bend himself nearly double to return the smaller man’s hug. “I haven’t seen you since University! How are you– um, is he dead?” He’s pointing at the one who Bertie stabbed.

Sasha doesn’t know how she knows. “Not yet.” The halfling blinks up at her. In this version, his jaw tightens. In this version, Sasha takes a small step back. In this version, their magic doesn’t align. In this version, they jar each other.

(In this version, Hamid doesn’t feel abandoned by his family. In this version, Hamid paid more attention to his family’s church service than to his girlfriend’s favoured subjects. In this version, Hera gently nudged him away from Gideon. In this version, Hamid’s on something of a pilgrimage of his own volition, with no sense of failure or disappointment hanging over his head.)

In this version, Hamid Stabilises the criminals bleeding out by flicking open a peacock-feather fan and whispering a catechism to Hera. Zolf whistles quietly, impressed. (In this version, divine magic isn’t something he’s seen much of.) Hamid turns to look up at him. “Sorry, I don’t believe we know each other,” he says politely. The politeness toward the woman radiating undeath is slightly more forced. He stands from the body in order to properly introduce himself. In this version, his silver chainmail shirt is gilded with blue, and the cape around his shoulders mimics the pattern of a peacock’s tail. In this version, in any version, in every version, he smiles as he shakes Zolf’s hand. “Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan, Cleric of Hera. A pleasure.”

“I’m Zolf, you know Bertie, and the magician's Sasha. Any chance you’re looking for work?”

\---

In this version, they end up in Amsterdam instead of Prague. In this version, Bertie leaves them before they get on the airship. “I don’t want anyone associated with the meritocrats on my ship,” snarls Earhart, and Bertie lifts his hands in surrender. 

In this version, he hugs Hamid goodbye. In this version, he says, “It’s fine. I was looking for a change in employment anyway. Mr Smith, consider this my resignation.” In this version, he lives, charming some of Le Gourmand’s men into letting him leave free of charge. Wilde watches his escort abandon him, hands covering his mouth in shock and fury as he tries not to let his breathing give his location away. 

In this version, the party has no idea. In this version, they have a relaxing journey, even if Zolf ends up bickering with one of the passengers any time they’re near each other. 

(In this version, Zolf wasn’t held in prison, never read any good books. In this version, they all left Dover within a day, and Bertie never met an author on a doomed train ride. In this version, Harrison Campbell is only a name Zolf recognises as ‘that jerk from the airship’.)

In this version, Hamid gets his pocket picked almost as soon as they touch down. Sasha shouts, “Oi! Get back here!” but the thief doesn’t slow, running faster than even she could manage. She stretches her fingers out wide, her eyes rolling up in her head, and the goblin drops in the middle of the sidewalk, fast asleep. Hamid reaches down a hand made from solid cloud to retrieve his purse. 

(In this version, Mr Ceiling left Zolf’s legs intact, instead taking off Hamid’s arm. In this version, Hamid spent three days crying quietly in his hotel room as Sasha sat guard outside the door, daring anyone to make him feel worse by stumbling through some attempt at comfort. In this version, Hamid screamed in his bed and Sasha scrambled in, forgetting the way his divinity made her skin itch, forgetting the way she needed to keep her distance from these people, forgetting anything that would have prevented her from grabbing his flesh-and-blood hand in hers and holding him tight to her chest.)

In this version, Sasha sees something that makes her think of Brock in the goblin. “He’s tiny,” she says to herself as Hamid re-attaches his coin purse to his belt. Sasha grabs the thief’s wrists tight enough for it to hurt, and he wakes up. “Hey,” she says. His red eyes widen, and he starts trying to jerk away, but Sasha holds him. It’s too easy. His wrists are so bony that her entire hand fits snugly around them. _“Hey,”_ she says again, “do you want some food?” The goblin stares at her, too stunned to struggle. 

(In this version, Grizzop wasn’t taken in by the Cult of Artemis. In this version, he grew up alone, abandoned, and he learned how to take care of himself quick. In this version, there’s no bow at his back, only half a dozen silver daggers tucked about his person. In this version, he’s starving.)

Grizzop snaps, “Who wants to know,” before shaking his head and snarling, “I don’t need your pity!” 

Sasha counters, “We need a thief, you’re a thief, and we’ve got enough money for food.” She looks at him hard. He’s nothing like Brock, really. His skin is pitch-black, and his teeth are like knives, and he’s way too short. Sasha still feels protective.

In this version, Hamid has learned not to try and stop her. Zolf has had worse ideas, so he’s not going to get in the way of finding someone new. Grizzop glares. “What if I don’t want to join?” Sasha lets go of his wrists, and he takes a step back, but he doesn’t run off.

Hamid interrupts, “You don’t have to. But at least point us to somewhere we can all get lunch. I’m hungry.” Grizzop shifts his eyes to the cleric, fingers twitching. He turns without a word and starts walking off. Sasha follows. When it’s clear the goblin isn’t going to yell at her to go away, Zolf shrugs at Hamid and jogs to catch up. “Hera,” Hamid mumbles, flicking open his holy symbol and fanning himself slightly, “why am I the reasonable one?”

\---

In this version, Kafka doesn’t turn evil. In this version, Aziza’s performance goes off without a hitch. 

In this version, Hamid is too busy sobbing over his boss’ body to feel sorry for missing it.

In this version, Sasha flinches back from the Cure Serious Wounds Hamid casts again, and again, and again. 

In this version, Sasha’s eyes are permanently glazed over, and she looks every bit the zombie that she swore she wasn’t. In this version, Grizzop has to drag them up into daylight and make them sit down and get a drink.

In this version, they go to Cairo because Hamid needs to pray properly, at the altar he was brought up with.

In this version, the train to Cairo is delayed due to sandstorms. In this version, Sasha and Grizzop don’t play I-Spy. In this version, Hamid shuts down, and Sasha doesn’t try and start him up again.

“They were close,” Grizzop says.  
“Yeah,” Sasha says, “yeah. So were we. Zolf and I, I mean. He gave me a place to be.”  
“He was good like that.”  
“He was.”

In this version, Grizzop doesn’t put nearly as much value on the word _family,_ but it still echoes where Sasha’s voice leaves off. In this version, his fingers aren’t as calloused by bow strings where he slips them between Sasha’s. In this version, Sasha’s hands are very nearly grey when she squeezes Grizzop’s hand in hers.

In this version, Hamid asks his holy symbol, “Why couldn’t you save them all?”  
In this version, Hamid asks more quietly, “Why couldn’t _I_ save them all?”

In this version, Grizzop doesn’t understand religion, and he especially doesn’t understand crises of faith or self-doubt. In this version, in any version, in every version, Grizzop does what he has to, he trusts himself, he has faith in his decisions. He grabs Hamid’s hand, too. “We saved a lot of them. And you tried,” he comforts, “and that’s all anyone can do.” Hamid doesn’t bother re-doing his eyeliner. It’s too much trouble, on a moving train, with tears still blurring his vision. In this version, Sasha awkwardly Prestidigitates it back again. The wing is too sharp, the rest of it too bold, not the right shade, her sorcery prickling _wrongly_ against Hamid's holy skin. Sasha takes care to make it waterproof. Hamid gives her a watery smile.

In this version, Aziza has just come home after the rush of her closing night in Prague. Her fiancé is there, and Hamid smiles at them, sitting on the sofa and laughing. “Hello,” he says, and his sister pulls him into a tight hug.

In this version, Hamid prays. In this version, Grizzop and Sasha go wandering, and they happen to stumble into a temple of Artemis. It’s small; they clearly don’t have much sway in Cairo. It’s more Aphrodite’s city, anyway. In this version, an orcish woman is standing in the door, mollifying a camel. She starts abruptly and whirls, her bow already drawn, an arrow already knocked and pointed at Sasha. Grizzop steps between them, which is a sweet gesture, but useless considering how much smaller he is. “She’s not undead,” he says. 

It’s almost an in-joke, now, they’ve said it so many times. “We’re still working on the name,” right after Rangers. “She’s not undead,” whenever someone holy gives Sasha dirty looks. “No wonder his thing is peacocks,” whenever Hamid fixes his hair or his makeup.

The woman lowers her bow. “You _look_ undead,” she says. Her voice is strong, low and echoing around the temple’s functional marble walls.

(In this version, Azu fell into the worship of the Goddess of the Hunt. In this version, she knows the forests around her mountains well. In this version, her main concern was protecting her family, her _pack,_ was loving them _fiercely._ In this version, her jewellery is silver and functional, all serving a double purpose in some form or fashion. In this version, she came to Cairo because Artemis directed her to find the source of its corruption.)

Sasha shrugs. Her skin looks like a corpse’s, her black eyes have faded like cataracts, the skin on her hands peels like rotted flesh. “Yeah. Happens to the best of us.”

In this version, Azu sweeps her long braids over her shoulder as she asks, “What exactly are you two doing here?” 

Grizzop grins up at her.

“Looking for a fighter. How good are you with that bow?”

**Author's Note:**

> sasha has the Undead bloodline bc i'm a huge pathfinder nerd and i know all the bloodlines bc i read the rulebooks religiously as a child. bc. i didn't have friends. ANYWAY. if u would like to read a version where she's a ~~~storm sorceress~~~ go check out narrativium!! it's so good, and there's already two chapters up, and emma is the light of my life, andandandandand go read it!!!!


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